Robert Charles Howard
Grace the Magician
There were no rabbit hat extractions,
Floating pastel scarves,
Or fluttering dove wings
But it was magic nonetheless.
Circled in the warmth
Of comfort arms
Grace released her mouth
From her mother's breast
And broke her verbal silence,
Of the 23,000 or more words
She will come to know,
None can now precede
But how much more magic
Is yet to come?
Torrents of words
Will tumble out in nano-seconds
To bring the treasury of
Stored experience to her lips -
Questions and declarations
To shape and guide her universe.
Born of Grace and Providence.
I hear your words dear child,
But beg to differ.
You have just begun.
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